Wait in silence.

Psalm 62.  Wait. Hope. Rest. Trust. I will not be shaken.

Don't touch that!

Ava's preschool class got to take a field trip to see the Rochester Philharmonic Orchestra this week.  I brought all three of my sweet little monkeys along.  While the performance was designed for preschoolers, and was done beautifully, it was still 45 minutes of sitting in the same chair, looking in the same direction, with the expectation of relatively quiet attention.

That's a lot of minutes for people who have only been alive for a few minutes more than that (minutes that, I'll add, are flying by far too quickly).   At home this month, we're focusing on patience, and what it means to wait with a happy heart.  To help the lesson stick on orchestra day, I did a little of my own orchestrating ahead of time. 

I want to enrich my kids.  I want to stretch their beautiful little minds with a world of experiences.  I want them to learn to be quiet and sit still when the need to.  I also want to set them up for success and teach them how to sit quietly in places where etiquette requires quiet sitting, without just expecting that they've come wired to be able to do it.  

All too often, I lose sight of the newness of my children and expect them to just know how to do things that I take for granted.  Kids are wired to see and touch and move and feel and verbalize and hear.  After a few too many painful experiences with my own sweat and frustration and tears as I attempted to force long periods of waiting-in-quiet-stillness onto tiny people who learn through movement and hands-on-and-in-and-around interaction with their environment, I've learned to come prepared.  

When our firstborn was 21 months old, we braved ULTA together in search of a new hairbrush.  I wheeled her stroller through the bold and bright aisles, filled with shiny, sparkly, lovely little things. I expected that since she had mastered the phrase "don't touch that" at home, she should just understand that it meant the same thing here.  A less-than-two-year-old.  I know.  I'm in the future, too.

Needless to say, in my naivety, I was shocked when she reached out and wrapped her tiny fingers around as many bottles of nail polish as she could.  And didn't want to let go.

But, why should she want to let go?  She hadn't yet learned that my instruction about not touching little breakable things that didn't belong to her applied in places outside of our home.  She needed more repetition.  And she needed my patient willingness to walk her through it. 

So, the next day, I set up a pretend store in our living room, and put as many beautiful and breakable things as I could find on the "shelves."  I mixed in toys and treats as do-touch-that rewards, and we practiced the "don't touch that" rule in a safe place.  And, we repeated it the day after that, and the day after that, and the day after that.

I love this verse because it speaks to this concept, even though its context is about teaching God's word: "..be prepared in season and out; correct, rebuke, and encourage, with great patience and careful instruction," (2 Timothy 4:2).  

We've done the same kind of thing as we did with our imitation store to practice what it takes to be patient through other out-of-our-home-routine situations, like sitting in a restaurant and waiting for food (because, let's be honest--at home, who makes their kid sit at the dinner table for half an hour or more before the meal is ready to be served?).  I've learned to always bring a bag of fun things along with us, so that our kids can experience how to be still and wait with a happy heart.  I want them to see that patience is more than just sitting in one place and not touching things.  Patience requires hope and trust.  Hope for what we don't yet have.  Trust that whatever is on the other side of the waiting is worth it.

"But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently," (Romans 8:25). 

(Courtney DeFeo, In This House We Will Giggle)

Faithfulness.

My heart explodes.  Every time I open my eyes and look around my oh-so-blessed life, I can barely stand it.  The beautiful sound of, "I praise my happy God, I praise my loving God, I praise my faithful God, He's worthy of my praise!" rings in my ears as my little ones run around, singing and bursting with a beautiful reminder of the freedom that comes from life with Jesus.  My happy God.  My joy through every mountaintop and every valley.  He is so faithful.

She's singing, "My debt--it is nailed to the cross; it is all gone, my life has been bought..."  And, she knows it's true.

I don't want to miss a moment.  The last eight months have passed so quickly.  Eight months of constant pain.  Learning how to live through pain.  And learning how to find God's strength and His joy through the pain.  Learning the meaning of James 1:2-3, that says, "Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance."

Eight months from hospital beds to living-room-turned-into-bedroom-beds and wheelchairs to crutches.  And now, God has so graciously brought us into an adorable little brick house that's all on one floor so that I can move around easily, and have a bedroom with walls and a door.  And, my handsome handy husband has been hard at work, making it feel just like us!  Just last week, he put new appliances in the kitchen last week, installed a lovely new farmhousey faucet and knobs, and kept working on painting, and it's all coming along so beautifully.

Eight months of re-learning how to walk and spending weeks and weeks not being able to hold my little ones.  Eight months from when my baby boycotted eating anything but a few jars of applesauce for six days when he was abruptly cut off from nursing because of my diagnosis and medications.  He finally learned how to take a bottle like a champ, and I've been able to snuggle him without pain for several months.  I'm so thankful that he still wants to do it.  And today, he, too, started walking.  I told him, at the beginning, that we were in a race to see who who would figure it out first.  He was kind enough to give me a head-start so that I'd be able to chase him around once he set off on his chubby little toddler feet.

Eight months, surrounded by the most incredible love.  When Jesus says that people will know we are His followers by our love for one another (John 13:35), a glimpse into this season of my life shows nothing but that: free, flowing, all-around-me love.  Love from people who dropped everything of their own to stay with our kids when I was in the hospital.  Love from people who made us so many meals that we didn't have to cook (or buy food!!) from October until mid-January!).  Love from people who drove me to all of my appointments for months and months, and brought me and the kids to church because Sean gets there so early.  Love from people who blessed us with beautifully encouraging letters and cards, generous gift cards and so much financial help, constant help around the house and with the kids, and wonderful company.  Love from people who are still doing those things.
 

Eight months wondering if I'd ever be able to drive again.  A little over one month ago, my lovely PA, who has been one of my most incredible supporters during all of this, was able to clear me to drive because I had been walking so well!  My little Ava prayed one morning, "God, please heal Mommy enough to drive me to Mom's Night at school."  That very day, He said, "Yes."

My husband has blown my mind with how much he has taken on to take care of me and the kids.  He teaches me what it means to trust in God, and to rest in Him.  Here he is, melting my heart and singing to Jesus with our kids:

Eight months ago, I determined myself that I wouldn't miss out on life because of a diagnosis and a disease.  I wasn't going to let darkness win.  It's not that it isn't hard.  Particularly because it's so unpredictable.  Every day looks completely different from the one before.  One day, I'll be walking and nearly pain-free, and the next, I can't stand to touch my feet to the ground.  But, none of this was a surprise to my faithful, loving God.  He is stronger.

"He said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.' Therefore, I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me," (2 Corinthians 12:9).

I spent the first three days of this week in my wheelchair.  Barely able to take a step.  And, yet, here I am, at the end of the week, living in the crazy unpredictability of CRPS.  Pushing through the pain.  On my feet, and making it through.  Carrying love on my shoulders and God's faithfulness in my heart.  He makes beauty from ashes.

"Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid . . . for the Lord your God goes with you; He will never leave you nor forsake you," (Deuteronomy 31:6).

Wisdom from my Mom

In light of Mothers' Day coming up, I'd like to honor my sweet Momma by passing on some of the wisdom she poured into me many years ago...

Here's to you, Mom!